


Riding Public Transit

by lucabee



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, PWP, Public Sex, Trains, god i am so embarrassed, i cant write dirty talk, i did the thing, the NY metro just got dirtier....in a good way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucabee/pseuds/lucabee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a good thing the subway is deserted this time of night, because Grantaire refuses to keep his damn hands to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riding Public Transit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ark/gifts).



> Based on Ark's beautiful [Hacker AU.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/35751)  
> Apparently I have a thing? and that thing is public sex? I dont know, but I saw an opening and I took it.  
> A million apologies, I've literally written no fic for going on 6 years now and for some crazy reason I thought porn would be a good reintroduction (no one ever shoots the messenger who comes bearing porn, right?). Unbeta'd, so if you spot any errors please do let me know.  
> If you want to find me, I'll be skulking around ambiguous-eyepatch.tumblr.com

They catch the last G train heading out of the city, and their car is blessedly empty aside from an elderly Asian couple asleep against each other at the other end. Any other night the flickering lights and the abandoned stations might be creepy, but tonight it's just as well because Grantaire refuses to keep his damn hands to himself and if Enjolras is entirely honest he's got his own hand up Grantaire's shirt. Making out on the first train had lead to pressing hard against a tiled pillar as they waited for their transfer, hands dipping indecently low for a public space but neither of them caring as they breathed together. They’ve both been on edge for literally hours now and apparently Grantaire’s patience is almost up, because Enjolras keeps feeling hot fingers dipping below his belt and if he wants to hold out any hope of not embarrassing himself on the Metro he has to keep grabbing those hands and dragging Grantaire further into his space. The fourth time he catches the wandering hands, he breaks the kiss to mutter, “If that’s how you’re going to be…” and tugs hard on the wrist in his grasp, yanking Grantaire off balance and manhandling him (not that Grantaire doesn’t enthusiastically assist once he figures out what Enjolras wants) into his lap. 

They get Grantaire’s knees arranged on either side of Enjolras’ hips and he cranes his neck to peer anxiously at the – still asleep, thank god – couple down the car, but his arms still come up around Enjolras’ neck so Enjolras counts is as a win as he steals Grantaire’s mouth back for a kiss.

He realizes his tactical mistake a moment later: it’s hotter like this, maybe too hot, but he can’t really bring himself to care about the walk home when he's got Grantaire, hot and blushing and really fucking into it, grinding against him on the New York public subway. Grantaire buries his face in Enjolras’ neck, nosing between the heavy layers of his winter coat and his scarf to nip little kisses into the flushed skin there. He’s got his hands under Enjolras’ shirt, thumbs pressing circles that are a shade away from ticklish into the hollows of his hipbones, and Enjolras is whispering filth into his ear as he strokes his way teasingly up the back of Grantaire’s thighs.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the shower either, you know, how I wish I’d fucked you up against the wall, ridden you so hard that the steam and the heat would make you dizzy.”

He licks the curve of Grantaire’s ear so that his breath on his next words will chill the drying moisture there and send shivers down Grantaire’s spine.

“I'd fuck you so hard you'd faint."

Grantaire’s moan is too loud even through the layers of clothing, but Enjolras’ hiss when Grantaire bites him hard on his sensitive neck is almost as bad. He buries both hands in Grantaire’s dark curls to drag that wicked mouth up into searing kiss. Grantaire sighs into it and presses their bodies even closer, bringing one hand up to flick at a nipple and drinking in the helpless noise Enjolras makes.

Enjolras catches the hand and brings it up to his mouth, licking a narrow line from the wrist to the tip of his middle finger. He lingers for a moment at the tip, making eye contact with Grantaire – who is watching him with a focused expression that should be ridiculous with the flush of arousal and alcohol spread across his cheeks and the absolute mess Enjolras has made of his hair, but is really just incredibly hot – before sucking the finger all the way into his mouth in a quick bob. Grantaire whimpers in a way that’s only half for show, grinding their hips together purposefully and keeping his eyes trained on Enjolras’ mouth. Enjolras lets the fingers slip from his mouth a moment later in order to get his hands in Grantaire’s hair again and tug, licking his way up the offered expanse of throat.

“you hussy,” he whispers, working a hand down the back of Grantaire’s ridiculously tight jeans to grab at his ass, “can’t keep your hands to yourself in public, want my dick so badly you’re begging for it on a train.”

Grantaire laughs breathlessly, head still tipped back.

“You complaining?”

“No,” he has to take his hand out of Grantaire’s hair to bat away the hand rubbing at the front of his jeans. “But if you can’t behave yourself I may have to punish you.”

Grantaire groans and drags his blunt nails down the small of Enjolras’ back.

“This  _is_  punishment.”

“I’ll show you punishment,” and Enjolras means it as a joke, a tiny threat, something to convince Grantaire to cool it long enough for them to get home, but when he slips a finger between his cheeks to rub a finger across his hole – still slick and grasping from earlier – Grantaire goes absolutely still and his eyes are wide and dark when their eyes meet. They're perfectly still for a beat, just looking at each other from a hair’s breadth away, and then Enjolras twists his finger deeper and Grantaire makes a broken noise and dives in for a kiss, hips pressing back against Enjolras' hand.

“Here?” Enjolras gasps out between kisses, finger working him obediently open. He had only been teasing Grantaire at the bar, whispering about exhibitionism to get Grantaire ramped up before his show without laying a finger on him, but now here they are on the New York Metro and Grantaire – who called himself  _vanilla_ , sweet baby Jesus – is hissing, “  _yes_ ” and grinding back against his hand.

“There are people –“

“They’re asleep, anyways the coat – they can’t see – come  _on_ , Enjolras.”

And it’s true, Grantaire’s long winter coat is splayed around them, covering well over Enjolras’ knees and keeping them mostly hidden. It’s an awkward fumble for logistics and Enjolras has to pull his fingers away to dig the condom out of his pocket, Grantaire whining impatiently at the loss, but then they’re settled with Grantaire’s feet where his knees used to be, calves tucked along Enjolras’ sides and Enjolras’ arms around his back to keep him from falling backwards on his head. They’ve both finally got their belts open, Grantaire’s jeans shoved down to mid-thigh to give Enjolras's fingers space as they return, two now, to stretching him open. He’s still loose from earlier and he’s begging for, “Just now,  _goddamnit,_  Enjolras, come  _on_ ”, but the lube is starting to run a little thin so Enjolras pulls his fingers free and circles them gently around the rim, spreading what little remains from when he rolled the condom on.

“You okay like this?”

Grantaire moves his hips restlessly back, but he has so little leverage in this position that all he can do is huff in frustration.

“Yes, yes, god why is it so hard to get you to  _fuck me_ , Enjolras,” and then he’s got the angle, he’s sliding in and Grantaire looses his words in low, continuous noises as he sinks down. Even with the addition of the condom it's less lube than Enjolras usually prefers, and the drag is so much stronger this time. Thankfully the angle keeps him from going too fast and risking any hurt to Grantaire, and the way in seems to take a breathless eternity. When Grantaire is settled in his lap, back bowed and face hidden in his scarf, Enjolras turns his face to press a gentle kiss to the hair at the nape of Grantaire's neck as he rocks his hips up. 

He can’t thrust as hard as he could like this way, and he has a moment to regret that this is the second time he's had to hold back and keep from showing Grantaire the time of his life, but then Grantaire's arching his back and gasping as Enjolras inexplicably slides deeper and he thinks he could get lost in this heat and never want to be found.

It's amazingly intimate as they built a rhythm, sharing breath and clinging to each other to keep from falling and to keep from being seen and maybe a little bit because now that Enjolras has him, he wants to keep Grantaire  _here_. Grantaire is shaking, body tightening and rocking down hard every time Enjolras hits the right angle, but the fingers he slips into Enjolras' hair are gentle and he begs for a kiss almost shyly.

The tenderness can't last, though, not when they've been building to this for hours and hours, and their kisses turn dirty quickly. Neither of them have any idea what stop they're on but they know they don’t have much time and the added rush of being caught - by the elderly couple, by passengers boarding from the deserted stations, from roving conductors - thrums in their veins and turns them desperate.

They grind together, all sense of finesse long gone, rutting and making far too much noise but honestly Enjolras is too far gone to even notice. He's close, the anticipation and the risk crawling sparks up his spine and pooling in his gut. It's precarious, and it makes Grantaire cling to him in a way that he won’t admit to really liking, but he takes one of the hands holding Grantaire to him and brings it between them.

He strips Grantaire's cock gracelessly, wringing his orgasm from him with his hand barely slicked with spit and precome. It's almost too dry, there's really not enough lube, but the hint of pain just makes them that much hotter as they both struggle towards the edge.

They're not even really kissing anymore, just panting into each other’s mouths, Grantaire gasping and muttering continuously, "yes" and "please" and "come  _on_ , Enjolras,  _oh -_ " and then he's coming all over Enjolras' hand, shuddering like a junkie and making a complete mess of both of their clothes. He collapses into Enjolras, boneless and whimpering, and presses tiny breathless kisses into Enjolras' jaw with his eyes closed, almost like he doesn’t know he's doing it at all.

He looks so tired and content that Enjolras just wants to take him to bed and rub the tension from his muscles and make him breakfast and see him when he wakes up and all sorts of other complicated emotions that smack of  _commitment_  but he's still so close, so close to coming on the goddamn  _New York Metro_  and they could be caught at any moment, he's going crazy and he can’t still his hips or stop the, "please," he rasps out, "please please, Grantaire -"

And even through his post-orgasmic haze Grantaire grins, shifting his tired hips lazily, helping Enjolras find his own release breaths later.

They stay like that for long moments after they've stilled, capable of absolutely nothing beyond breathing heavily and trading tired kisses. When they eventually drag themselves back to reality, their car is empty and they've missed their stop by three stations. Enjolras' face burns in embarrassment to think of what the poor couple might have seen, but he meets Grantaire's own sheepish glance as they do up their pants and their tension dissolves into helpless laughter. 

They get off at the next stop and have to wait on a street corner, huddled against the cold, for a taxi back home. Grantaire falls asleep standing up, his head against Enjolras' shoulder and their hands tangled together in Enjolras' pockets. They stumble back into his apartment without turning on the lights and for the first time in years Enjolras isn't even tempted to turn on his computer, only fumbles out one text (to Combeferre:  _don’t call if it's not the apocalypse_ ) before he falls into a soft bed and warm skin and Grantaire's breath against his neck. 


End file.
